I was eighteen when it started.

Eighteen, and halfway through my first year at university.

Eighteen when she found me.

At first it wasn't so bad. I'd skip class here and there. Forget an assignment or two. Sleep a little less at night, never more than an hour or two at a time.

Never more than two.

Every once in a while, I'd say something strange, as if unable to filter the thoughts trickling through my mind. My friends would give an uncertain laugh, unsure of how to react before brushing it off.

He's just stressed, they'd say. He'll be fine. Just needs some rest.

Part of me believed that, too. I'd trick myself into thinking that if I could just get some more sleep, if I could just get a little reprieve, things would straighten out. I'd find that drive to go to class again. I'd actually want to see my friends. I'd stop feeling so off about everything.

Unbalanced. Off-kilter. Disrupted.

Disturbed.

It was all the same to me, just as the sudden unwritten rule of sleep was burned into my brain: never more than two. I didn't know where that came from. It didn't make sense, but it was there in my mind, as real as the fact that the sky is blue.

You may only sleep two hours.

Never more than two.

I felt that drive with every move I made. I was tired. So tired. Yet despite being exhausted, I couldn't sleep. Something in my mind didn't let me, holding me back from the rest I so desperately desired.

This went on for a while-a few weeks I supposed. It was a vicious cycle of my body craving sleep and my mind keeping me from it. No matter what I did, it stopped me. This silent urge had a hold of me, slowly dragging my life down with it.

It was a while before I actually heard it.

Don't you dare sleep.

Don't. Don't sleep.

The first time it happened, I shook my head violently and clamped my eyes shut, fighting off the very real voice in my head. I'd glanced around, expecting to see someone beside me, but there was no one. All I saw was the shocking state of my dorm room. Clothes and random objects were strewn everywhere, garbage and scraps of food thrown around as if a wild animal had been living there.

Don't sleep!

When the second voice started, I stopped eating. I didn't leave my room other than to use the toilet for a week. My body started it's desperate attempt to keep me alive, burning what little energy it could off my own body as I refused to eat. Every time I'd look at food, the voice would sound again, frightening me away from it.

Don't touch that food.

Stay awake, Harry.

No food!

No, no, no!

Still, even then, when I was forced into an exile of my own mind against what my body needed the most, it wasn't the worst it would get. At the time, it was terrifying. People don't hear voices in their heads, right? Voices that tell them what they can and cannot do?

Worse, people don't actually listen to them, right?

I knew this, but at the same time, all the control I had slipped between my fingers as soon as the two voices spoke. They were different, and very distinctive, forcible and terrifying in their own right. They were dark, demanding, petrifying, and I obeyed them.

With no power or self-control, I obeyed them.

It was one day when I was trapped, mentally and physically, curled into a ball on my couch. I'd lost count of how many days it had been since I'd eaten or slept. My fingers fidgeted with a scrap of paper, turning it over and over between my fingers as I tried and failed to shut out the voices that held me captive.

You're weak, useless.

Why do you bother?

Nobody cares about you.

Your friends stopped caring. When was the last time they checked on you? Nobody cares.

You've pushed them away.

My eyes clamped shut and my hands pressed over my ears, fighting off the voices that couldn't be silenced. It was nearly constant, now. The voices never subsided, and their words grew darker by the day. Now they not only demanded I don't eat or sleep, but berated me. Belittled me. Spoke of my worst fears and made them a reality.

I'd isolated myself. It was impossible to focus on anyone with the voices in my head. Each time I'd tried, I'd ended up reacting to the things only I could hear. People would give me strange looks, uncomfortable with my odd behavior. Slowly but surely, I shut everyone out, and everyone stopped caring that I did.

That was, until the day she came.

That day when I was eighteen and alone, trapped in my own mind, when my life changed forever.

A sharp knock sounded at the door that I almost didn't hear over the voices in my head. I jerked upward, springing out of the locked position I'd maintained on the couch. My feet froze, stilling me in place as the voices immediately protested.

No, ignore that.

Don't answer the door.

They're going to hurt you.

They want to kill you.

Again, my eyes squeezed shut. They were so loud, so convincing. I didn't want to die. Whoever was there on the other side of the door would go away. They didn't have to kill me.

A second knock sounded, and I took another few steps forward before I was again shut down.

No, no, no.

Stop right now!

"Harry?"

My eyes sprang open, probably bulging as I stared at the door. That didn't sound like someone trying to kill me. That sounded like a girl. A quietly confused, maybe slightly concerned girl.

No, no, STOP.

I jerked my head to the side once to try and throw off the voices before stepping forward and flinging my door open before the voices could shut me down again. She jumped, taken aback by my sudden appearance. Her eyes were a light brown, framed by soft brown hair that fell around her face, and she looked slightly shocked before she managed to cover her expression.

Shut the door.

She wants to hurt you.

My head ticked to the side and I closed my eyes for a few seconds before gathering myself, willing the voices to shut up for once and leave me alone.

"Hey," she said calmly with a gentle smile.

Pretty.

One of the voices finally said something I agreed with. She was pretty, very pretty, which was only another distraction to my already distracted mind.

"Hello," I said stiffly. My voice sounded unnatural and low as I spoke.

Idiot. You're an idiot.

She hates you.

She looked a little confused as she stood in my doorway. Her mouth opened to speak but she didn't get far before cutting herself off.

"I, um-" she paused as she studied me more closely.

The polite smile on her face started to falter as one of confusion took its place. Her brows pulled together and a frown fell on her lips; I saw her eyes dart from my face down my body, taking in what I was wearing. It was only then that I noticed how odd that was: athletic shorts, heavy sweater, sock on one foot. Odd clothing choices for the start of winter.

Shut the door.

Tell her to leave.

I flinched once, trying to ignore the words as I studied her studying me. Her eyes darted to the space behind me, where I knew she was seeing the absolute wreck that was my dorm.

Who is she?

What does she want?

She wants to hurt you.

"No, she doesn't," I said aloud, shaking my head.

"Sorry?" she asked, frowning in confusion as her gaze snapped back to mine.

"Um," I mumbled, clearing my throat as I shook my head yet again. It had become like a sort of tic now, as if I thought doing so would make the voices stop.

It never did.

"Who are you?" I asked stupidly.

Idiot.

"I'm Sadie," she said as gave me another soft smile. "I was just..."

She's going to hurt you.

Stop her, stop her!

She trailed off as I closed my eyes in frustration. It was so difficult to focus on her with the voices shouting at me.

"Are you alright?" she asked kindly.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

"Mmhmm," I hummed, keeping my eyes shut. Maybe if I didn't look at her, they'd shut up.

"Are you sure?" she asked skeptically.

I jumped several inches back when I felt her reach out and touch my arm, causing my eyes to spring open and my heart to pick up speed drastically in my chest.

Stop her!

Hurt her.

"No," I hissed, responding to the voices rather than her question.

My jaw was clenched tightly shut, fending off everything at once. I just wanted her to leave so I could retreat into my solitude once more. At least when I was alone with the voices, no one else knew.

"I mean I'm fine. I'm sure," I said firmly, desperately trying to convince her. She studied me for a few more moments and I saw her look of confusion turn to one of curiosity and understanding.

I watched as she drew a deep breath, holding my unsteady gaze before she spoke.

"Harry, I know you don't know me, but I think you should come with me," she said calmly. She did not try to touch me again, nor did she move any closer, but she was firm in her stance as she stood in my doorway.

Told you she wanted to hurt you.

She wants to take you away.

Don't go, don't go!

"I don't think so," I managed, obeying the voices without control.

"I really, really think you should," she pleaded, nodding earnestly.

NO!

Don't you dare.

She'll hurt you.

Kill you.

"Okay," I gasped, suddenly out of breath as if I'd been fighting physically instead of mentally.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She looked somewhat surprised yet pleased when I agreed. I stepped forward as if to move out of the dorm right then and there.

"Let's, um, let's get you some shoes," she said kindly.

She shot me another small smile before moving carefully past me, cautious not to touch me again. I watched with an odd curiosity as she made her way into my room and started digging around. Embarrassment flooded through me as I suddenly saw the mess my room had become, and I tried to push it down as she finally located a pair of shoes and gave them to me to put on.

After getting me situated, she led me outside. It was cold, bitterly cold, as we made our way through the parking lot. All the way, the voices screamed at me for going with her, demanding I go back and lock myself in my room once more. Each step felt like a marathon as I fought them. She could have been talking to me, but I didn't hear it if she was. Her words went unanswered, my mind too distracted by it's self-inflicted damage.

That was the day my life changed forever.

She took me to the doctor's office, leading me gently and always so carefully, as if afraid I'd get upset again if she touched me. She told me things about herself to try and distract me as we waited, but I couldn't remember anything. The only thing I remembered about her was her name.

Sadie.

When they called me in, she waited patiently behind. I cast one last confused look over my shoulder to see her give me a reassuring nod and calm smile. A small flash of peace trickled through my body, something I hadn't felt in so long, as I followed the nurse into the room. As soon as she was cut off from my sight, however, that feeling was gone, and the voices regained their full control over my mind.

Get out of there.

They're going to hurt you, kill you.

You need to leave, now.

The nurse asked me questions. I probably only answered half, which was a generous guess. Half the time I stared off into the corner of the room, unable to focus on anything other than the voices. The other half of the time I spent with my eyes closed, hunched forward in desperation to make them stop. It seemed like years later that the doctor finally arrived. He asked me more questions that I answered as quickly as possible, desperate to get this over with so I could return to my room once again.

"Harry, did you hear me?"

I jerked my head up, locking eyes with the man that stood before me. His white lab coat was so bright that I felt like it was burning my eyes.

Run.

"No, sorry," I said.

"I asked if you have a history of schizophrenia in your family."

"Schizophrenia?" I repeated, confused.

Get out of there.

Go, go, go!

"Yes. You're at the age it usually sets in, and you have a lot of the classic symptoms. It's typically hereditary. Do you have a history of it?"

"No," I answered honestly, shaking my head.

The doctor nodded pensively. "That can happen. I'd like you to check into the mental facility for a few days so we can start you on some medications and see if that helps."

No!

"Mental facility?" I repeated flatly. "No, no way."

"I assure you, it's not what you think. It's nothing like what you see on TV or in the movies. You'll get some much-needed rest and get started on a medication regime. I think if that will do you wonders."

No, no, no.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said, shaking my head. The voices agreed with me in my head.

"Oh, come now. It'll be alright. These things are manageable as long as you stick with your medication routine. It seems as if your girlfriend is very supportive, surely she can help you."

"She's not-" I shook my head, confused by what he was saying and all the thoughts I was trying to process. "I don't even know her, I just met her today."

"My mistake," the doctor said with a duck of his head. "If she was kind enough to bring you here, maybe she'll be able to drop you off at the facility."

That was how I found out I have Schizophrenia. A rarity, they said, with no family history. After weeks, months maybe, of my self-imposed isolation, someone had finally found me to take me where I needed.

Sadie.

I never found out why she knocked on my door that day. Whatever it was that had brought her to me was long forgotten, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. She'd shown up when I needed her, and she'd saved me from my own mind without judgment or pity. She understood what my friends hadn't: that I had no control over this. I was a prisoner in my own body, my mind waging war against myself as I desperately clung to my sanity.

That sanity was corrupted now.

I was certified psychotic, medically insane.

Schizophrenic in the most classic sense of the disease, unable and often unwilling to change it.

The facility I went to helped. They put me on meds, some that made me sleep and some that helped stifle the voices, but they never went away. They were always there, in the back of my mind, whispering dark things to me at all times of the day. Every morning, I struggled to take the pills the nurse handed me.

Don't eat them.

They're poisoned.

They're trying to kill you.

Don't take them!

They'd check my mouth after I swallowed them, making sure I hadn't stashed them to spit out later. They'd follow me around the dayroom for twenty minutes, making sure I didn't throw them up. My every move was watched, making me feel like a rat in the cage. The logical side of me knew it was for my own good. They were only trying to help me, after all, but the cold grip that the voices held over me persisted, making me constantly suspicious of everyone around me.

I was there for three months.

Ninety-two days.

Ninety-two days with no one to interact with besides the others mental cases.

Schizophrenia. Bipolar disorder. Depression. Just about every kind of mental disease in the book; the place was full of them.

My one saving grace was the letters. One every day, always in a pristine white envelope with my name scrawled neatly across the front.

For Harry.

She wrote me every single day, and I wrote her back. Sometimes the letters I'd get were in rough shape, torn apart by the employees of the facility to make sure they contained nothing dangerous.

That always made me mad.

She'd get my letters late, and out of order, because they were screened for 'dangerous thoughts.' Apparently Schizophrenics are dangerous to themselves and others.

Apparently I was dangerous to myself and others.

She'd call, too. Some days I missed her call because of group therapy. Individual therapy. Rounds. All kinds of groups and meetings and interactions I didn't want to do, because they kept me from talking to her.

I learned things about her: her home, her family, her dreams. She was studying psychology, which was why she'd known to take me to the doctor that day she'd found me in my room. She'd known something wasn't right, and had risked putting herself in front of an unstable person to help me.

She'd encourage me, tell me things would work out, that they'd be just fine. She'd tell me little jokes, fill me in on what was going on in the world. She'd give me a reason to laugh and smile, bringing warmth back into my life more and more by the day.

By the time I left that place, I was already half in love with her.

She'd picked me up just as she'd promised she would on the day she dropped me off. I walked out the door free, unburdened by the dark voices that had haunted me for so long. They were still there, as they always were, but they were so quiet I could hardly hear them. They were easier to block out and ignore, especially when I moved down the sidewalk and saw her standing there.

Waiting.

For me.

A grin stretched across her face so wide that I thought it might hurt her as she pushed herself away from the car she'd been leaning on to move toward me. Her radiant smile was reflected with one of my own as my pace quickened, rushing toward her as if she was the final piece to my recovery. When my arms wrapped around her and felt hers wind around my neck, I was certain that the entire ordeal had been worth it if it led to that moment.

I felt almost back to my old self, a completely different person than the one she'd dropped off. She'd come to know me slowly, methodically, witnessing my recovery first hand along with me. The heat of her body against mine had never felt better, and I could feel the obvious relief and happiness she felt as she held me. When she pulled back, it was just enough to send a beaming smile up at me. Her fingers raked slowly along the back of my neck, soothing away the tension that lingered there, while mine remained looped around her waist.

How long I'd dreamt of holding her that way, and now she was finally in my arms.

"Hey," she said through her wide, happy grin.

I was suddenly speechless, unable to think of anything that could possibly repay what she'd done for me. My lower lip bit between my teeth as I tried to reign in my smile, and one of my hands left her waist to cradle one side of her face gently. It was the first time I'd ever touched her, and I desperately hoped it'd be the first of many.

"Sadie," I whispered, searching her eyes intently as she smiled up at me.

"Harry," she returned quietly. Her eyes darted to my lips, giving me the final bit of courage I needed to close the small distance remaining between us.

My eyes flitted shut as I pressed my lips to hers. Warmth flooded through me, a thousand times better than I ever imagined it as she let me kiss her. Her hands drew me closer, tangling gently in the hair at the back of my head. Every terrorizing voice and haunting urge I'd felt was worth it as I felt the warm heat of her lips on mine. Every agonizing minute shut inside that place had been worth it.

When she pulled back, my chest was heaving far more than it should have been, breathless from the way it felt to kiss her. Her eyes seemed glow a golden brown as she looked up at me, beaming as if nothing made her happier. A quiet, satisfied giggle burst from her lips only to be stifled as she bit down gently on her lower lip. I was absolutely mesmerized by her, unable to look away even if I had to.

"Let's get out of here," she said lightly, ticking her head backward toward her car.

"Alright," I agreed. In all honestly, she could have taken me anywhere and I would have been more than thrilled.

As long as I got to be with her, I was happy.